


AELDWS July 2016 Drabbles

by teacuphuman



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Grief/Mourning, Loss, M/M, Negotiations, Non-Graphic Violence, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7549153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Inception AELDWS 2016 Drabbles Non-Elimination, Week One: Locked Out</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hostile Negotiations

“Yes?”

 

“You are a brat. A spoiled, stubborn brat.” Eames hisses.

 

“Mr. Eames, is there something I can help you with?” Arthur’s voice is calm, measured.

 

“You know damn well what you can help me with, you little weasel.”

 

“A weasel, Eames? Really?”

 

“You’re being unprofessional. Personally, I thought better of you.”

 

“I’ll do whatever it takes to prove my point.”

 

“Oh, is that what you’re doing? Proving a point? By locking me out of every job in the Eastern hemisphere?”

 

“Don’t be so dramatic, I merely suggested to some of our colleagues they think twice before taking your call. You did look awfully familiar with that Interpol agent in Lyon.”

 

“That Interpol agent is very firmly in your pocket and I was delivering something on your behalf. Did you happen to mention that?”

 

“Hmm, must have slipped my mind.” 

 

“I swear to God, Arthur. You know how badly I wanted the Czech job-”

 

“And you know what you have to do to get it.”

 

“This is blackmail.”

 

“I’m very busy, Mr. Eames, so if there’s nothing else.”

 

“Arthur, don’t make me do this.”

 

“I can’t make you do anything, you made that perfectly clear last night.”

 

“I need to work.”

 

“Then work, I’m not stopping you.”

 

“You are too, you little shit.”

 

“Eames, if this is all too much for you-”

 

“You know that’s not it.”

 

“What is it then?”

 

“It’s just. This is. Big, you know?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Funny. If I do this you’ll talk to Valez about the Czech job?”

 

“I will sing your praises.”

 

“Fine. I’ll wear the striped tie instead of the paisley to the ceremony.”

 

“Thank you. Was that so hard?”

 

“Incredibly.”

 

“By the way, I incinerated the paisley this morning.”

 

“That’s fine, I have backups.

 

“Of course you do.”

 

“Goodbye, darling.”

 

“Mr. Eames.”

  
  



	2. Thank Heaven for Little Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inception AELDWS 2016 Non-Elimination, Week 2: Altered

It’s funny, Eames thinks, how things change without you realizing. It’s not like it was when he first moved in with Arthur when they kicked and screamed, fighting the way they needed to compromise, to weave themselves around each other to make it work. In those days, sometimes Eames forgot why they were trying so hard.

 

This is different. The baby’s only been with them a month, and already Arthur’s stopped taking middle of the night calls and Eames no longer yells at the telly during football matches. Arthur’s developed a softness around his eyes that wasn’t there before, and Eames is mostly too afraid to look in the mirror to see if he has as well.

 

Eames has never been one to shy away from praise, lapping it up and making tasks seem more difficult than they were, just to reap the rewards. With her, he’s fit to burst. People stop them in stores and on the street to coo and smile over her, and Eames shines with pride so bright he fears he’ll blind them with it. They made her, he and Arthur, and she’s their greatest enterprise, fatherhood their most satisfying bounty. It’s funny, how things change.

  
  



	3. The Gambler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week 3 of AELDWS Non-Elimination: Bitter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eames in the aftermath of Arthur's disappearance.

Eames knocks back the last of his scotch and places the tumbler on the table with a little too much force. The dealer smiles tightly, her eyes flicking over to the man with the earpiece at Eames’ elbow. Eames taps his cards, jaw clenching when a jack joins his four and nine.

 

“Mr. Stanley, it’s time.” Earpiece’s hand is heavy on his shoulder.

 

“My money not good enough for you boys anymore?” Eames slurs, signalling for another drink. The dealer puts away her cards and steps back from the table. “Now, now, don’t be like that. Let’s go, one more hand.” 

 

“Sir, allow me to escort you to your room.” Earpiece grips him under the arm and hoists him out of the chair.

 

Eames stumbles, saved only by the man’s firm grip. It funny like this, being thrown out gently instead of tossed on his ass onto the street. The difference of a few zeros goes a long way it seems. Eames hums out of tune to the song in the elevator, leaning heavily against the mirrored wall. 

 

“You married?” He asks Earpiece.

 

The man sighs. “Yes, sir.”

 

“I was married once. S’nice.”

 

He’s pushed smoothly into his suite, the door clicking behind him. He gets halfway out of his clothes before he registers the other person in the room.

 

“Arthur?” Eames whispers, worried he’s hallucinating, terrified he’s not.

 

Arthur smiles, sad eyes taking in the mess that Eames has become. “Hello, Eames. Sorry I’m late.”


	4. The Skin I'm In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames has a gift for giving people what they want. Or maybe it's a curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Skin  
> Genre: Magical Realism

Eames wanders through his life in constant transition. It’s his gift, or maybe his curse. People see in him what they need, what they desire, and he gives it to them. Whether he wants to or not. 

 

He’s tried to hide himself, disguise his power so he has a chance at finding peace. A moment to himself. Silence. Anything that resembles what he is and not what they want him to be. But his mark is strong and there’s always someone waiting for him to be of service.

 

He’s been in the employ of the Green Man for seven months, two weeks, and four days. But who’s counting? The things the Green Man wants are each worse than the last and Eames fears he won’t survive this time. Or maybe that’s just what hope feels like now. He wishes he had a choice. That refusing a request didn’t feel like lighting himself on fire. But Eames can’t survive on his own, and the Green Man knows it.

 

On day two hundred and thirty-one, the Green Man brings him Arthur and Eames experiences silence for the very first time. Where other people are filled to the brim with hope and expectation, Arthur is blissfully empty. When he looks at Eames his gaze is steady and the lack of expectation settles Eames’ spirit. His entire life has felt like a dimming of his light, but ten seconds in Arthur’s presence has him shining brighter than he knew he could. 

 

The Green Man is boasting of Eames’ powers like they are his own, his mouth continuing to move even after Arthur’s slit his throat. Eames takes Arthur’s hand, the rotten ache inside him soothed in an instant, the hunger in his heart satisfied. Finally, Eames can be who he was meant to be.


	5. Bodies at Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The Road Not Taken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My original piece for this week turned out quite violent and seemed a little off, so I wrote a second one. The first section is the one I turned in, the second section is the original piece.

1.

This is about the time Arthur usually walks away. Puts his clothes back on and fucks right off. He’s in the bathroom, pants in one hand, studying the bite mark on his shoulder in the mirror. Eames shifts on the bed behind him and Arthur watches in the reflection as he rubs his face against the pillow and stills, dropping back into sleep.

 

None of this is new to them. They’ve fallen into bed together countless times after a job, flush with success and just drunk enough to carry the celebration back to the hotel. By the time the sweat has dried, one of them is snoring and the other’s slipping out the door to catch a bit of sleep before an early flight out. 

 

For three years it’s worked perfectly. Eames indulges how bossy Arthur is, even on his back, and Arthur likes the way Eames’ loses himself when he comes. Thirty-six months of rough hands and warm mouths, surging against each other and sharpening their edges. Over a thousand days of Arthur not worrying about the outcome of his actions.

 

Arthur doesn’t do well in relationships, he’s honest enough with himself to admit it. He’s selfish, and impatient, and blunt. He’s never had a partner for longer than four months, and even then, he’d been out of the country three quarters of the time. He can be faithful, that’s not the problem, it’s being accountable to another person that has always rubbed him the wrong way.

 

He looks at Eames, curled up on the bed, and thinks about his hand in Arthur’s hair, his cock in Arthur’s mouth. Never demanding, never pushy, just taking what Arthur is willing to give. Eames has never asked Arthur for anything. So why then, would he ask for this? 

 

Arthur checks his watch. His flight leaves in six hours and he needs to be on it. He has a job lined up in Johannesburg and backing out now would be a nightmare. Still, he’s considering it, and that means something. 

 

Arthur’s heard people talk about a single moment changing the course of their lives, and scoffed each time. Every decision has a pattern; a spiral of events that have led to that critical moment. When he looks back at the past three years, he can see it. The way they stumbled past awkward and new into steady and comfortable. When he really thinks about it, Arthur can see every action that led Eames to utter that one little word.

 

Arthur stands over Eames, who Arthur’s consistently taking the measure of, and never finds wanting. He slides back into bed, curling himself into the hollow Eames’ body has made for him.  _ Stay _ , is all Eames has ever asked of Arthur, and Arthur doesn’t want to say no.

 

2.

This is about the time Arthur usually walks away. Cuts his losses and gets the fuck out of Dodge. This isn’t Arthur’s mess to deal with, but bad men are on their way, and he needs to make a decision. Eames is packing his shit, running back and forth to the window to check for the ones who’ve been sent to kill him.

“Arthur, for fuck’s sake, get out of here!” he growls, taking the SIM card out of his phone and holding it over the flame of his lighter.

Arthur can’t move. His mind is screaming at him to flee, and he wants to, but… See, you don’t fuck with the Russians. He doesn’t know what Eames has done, but Arthur’s fairly certain he deserves what’s coming.

“If you’re staying, at least do something helpful!” Eames shouts, panic making his voice high and tight.

Arthur moves to the window to keep watch while Eames empties the safe, stuffing stacks of foreign currency and a flash drive into a backpack. He’s sweating and Arthur can smell the sourness of his fear from across the room.

A black SUV pulls up outside the motel and Arthur steps away from the window. Eames looks up at the sound of the doors closing and swears, zipping his bag shut and pulling the gun out of the waistband of his trousers.

They both still, listening for the sound of footfalls on the pavement outside. Quietly, Eames slips the bag over his back, keeping his gun trained on the door. Arthur slips into the dark of the bathroom, nodding at Eames before he moves out of sight. His palms are steady around the grip of his guns and he adjusts for height when the knock comes, higher than he anticipated.

Eames doesn’t answer, but these boys aren’t going anywhere. A second knock comes, followed immediately by three shots to the locking mechanism and a sturdy kick. The Russians are shooting before they’ve cleared the door and Eames is hit. Arthur watches him lurch to the side and opens fire, taking them by surprise. The second one rushes Arthur as his partner bleeds out on the floor. 

Arthur’s thrown into the vanity, stunned when his head shatters the mirror above the sink. There’s a large hand around his throat and he can’t get any air. He scratches at the man’s face, but his vision is turning dark and he’s fading fast. A burst of wet hits him in the face and he’s gulping air before the body hit the floor. Eames is standing over him, blood seeping out of the wound in his shoulder.

“You alright?” He asks, grimacing when the bag on his back shifts.

  
Arthur nods, picking up his guns and stumbling out of the bathroom. His head is swimming and he’s slow to put the pieces together. They need to get away. Eames needs a doctor and Arthur needs six weeks alone on a sandy beach with an umbrella in his drink. 


End file.
